


Fruit & Vegetables

by lisachan



Series: Leoverse [49]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Orgasm Denial, Vegetables
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 22:49:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13668930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisachan/pseuds/lisachan
Summary: It's been six months since Alex and Timmy shared a powerful bonding moment at the lake where Timmy had been abandoned by Leo as a child. Now school's off for the summer and Alex is supposed to go away for a month, to spend some time at his dad's farm near Galena and Timmy, well, he doesn't completely agree with that, apparently.





	Fruit & Vegetables

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Alex And The Lion Boy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10080374) by [lisachan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisachan/pseuds/lisachan). 



> **WARNING:** This story is a **what if** from the original 'verse. In the canon course of events that, from Leonard Karofsky-Hummel VS The World, led to Broken Heart Syndrome, **this has never happened**.  
>  Written for this week's COW-T #8 mission. The prompt was _literally_ fruit and vegetables. I did my worst.

Timmy comes as Alex finishes preparing the second bag. The first – a light backpack with everything he might need for the trip and for roughly the first couple days of stay, in case his other bag gets lost or stolen during the trip – is already zipped up and tagged on the floor, next to the window.

The same window through which Timmy comes in after climbing up to the first floor with the agility of a lizard, as usual. It’s been more or less six months since Timmy came back to live with Blaine and Leo, but Alex can count on the fingers of one hand the times he’s entered his room like a normal human being, through the door. He prefers the window solution. After all, he’s not a normal human being, so that’s to be more or less expected.

“Is it true?” he asks. He’s decided to play cool, so he’s forced upon his voice a detachment that doesn’t match the vibration barely concealed underneath. Alex can’t help but smile discreetly as he pushes a couple t-shirts at the bottom of the bag. Timmy’s batshit crazy, and he’s a domineering demon, but Alex knows him, at this point. He showed enough of himself to give Alex all the tools to translate even the most subtle undertone of his voice into the clearest sign.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he answers, not even bothering to turn around and look at him, knowing perfectly well that the pose will make him angry.

In fact, Timmy’s voice turns even colder. “Don’t play dumb with me, sweets,” he says, “You know I don’t like dumb.”

“You don’t like anything,” Alex cuts the argument short, zipping up the second bag and finally turning towards him. “Yes,” he admits, “It’s true. I’m leaving. For a month.”

“Where are you going?”

“To my dad’s.”

“Where is that?”

“Not too far. It takes a train and a bus, but the bus is just because the farm’s in the country, so getting to Westerville is not enough, I have to take a bus to Galena and then my dad will come pick me up at the station. Are you satisfied?” he asks, his hands on his hips and his eyebrows both raised. 

Timmy openly frowns, this time. This gives Alex some pause. Timmy’s always pretty open when it comes to express his disappointment, he’s straight-forward and he makes sure you really got it before letting it go, but he likes to do it maintaining a position of power. He never shows himself angry or upset – on principle. He needs to let you know you hurt him, but it’s of capital importance for him to conduct himself as if he wasn’t hurt at all.

Today, though, he’s acting different. He’s hurt, upset, and he’s not shying away from showing it.

Alex loses a little of his gall, straightening his arms down his sides. “What’s with the face now?”

“The face is not happy you’re leaving for a month,” he answers.

Alex swallows. Timmy’s always been pretty honest, even talking feelings. But this is a new level of openness. He wonders if at some point during the past six months something happened in their relationship that made this moment possible, and he wonders where the hell was he looking as it was happening, how could he let it slip past his guard.

Must be said that he was probably being distracted by Timmy’s mouth on his dick, so, well, if he missed it, probably he couldn’t avoid it. 

“Well, I’m sorry,” he says, trying to soften down his voice, even though he’s so fucking shocked that Timmy actually _admitted_ he doesn’t like to see him going that he’s finding it hard to calm down. He had prepared so many witty comebacks. He had sharpened his tongue masterfully for this confrontation. He was ready for all the possible mockery, all the possible bashing and all the possible shaming. And then the lion boy comes here and actually goes as far as implying he will miss him. That he wasn’t prepared for. “It’s not-- I mean, I didn’t _choose_ it. I didn’t even ask for it.”

“And yet you’re going.”

“I tried to ask daddy if he could come visit me, instead, but he said he couldn’t leave the farm.”

“You should’ve told him if he didn’t wanna come here then he didn’t deserve to see you at all.”

“Jesus-- Timmy,” Alex sighs, pinching the root of his nose. Sometimes he’s forced to ask himself who’s the oldest between them. “It’s my dad. I haven’t seen him in months. I’m on a break from school, I _need_ to see him.”

“So you’re okay,” Timmy says coldly, looking at him as if upon his answer rested the fate of the whole summer, “Leaving now.”

Alex seals his lips in a thin line, holding his breath for a moment. Something’s clearly wrong with Timmy and he wonders if he should take advantage of it. If it would be low of him to take the chance to try and make him _say_ something about them.

The last time they talked about it, they were driving back from the lake. It was late in the evening and they were both covered in mud and drenched to the bone. Every single fiber of Alex’s being was either hurting or still shaking with the post-orgasmic tingling sensation of probably the wildest first time he could’ve ever expected or dreamed for himself, and when he even _tried_ to ask Timmy what had happened between them he had hit a rubber wall that had pushed him back a thousand miles. Timmy had told him not to start building castles in the sky about them, and that’s the last Alex heard about a _them_ at all.

So yeah. Forcing Timmy to talk about it is the most attractive choice, right now.

“Why?” he asks, tilting his head but looking right at him, “Aren’t you?”

Timmy instantly clutches his fists down his side. His eyes, full of rage, shine dangerously for a moment, and in a second Alex knows he tugged at the rope too hard.

He tends to forget how unstable Timmy is, because they’re fucking. Somehow having sex with a person constantly tends to make you feel more comfortable about them, despite your better judgment. It tends to make you feel safe, while you should be guarding yourself twice as tightly, just because you’re naked with that person – not just during the act but all the time: once you’ve been naked with someone, you’re naked to them forever, they will always know where to hit, where to stroke, how to apply pressure and when to start choking.

Alex knew they were dancing on the verge of the abyss the moment Timmy barged into the room. Timmy went as far as to show him he was upset and distressed, and all Alex could do was try and take advantage of it, to hear him say what he’s desperately aching to hear.

Of course, now, Timmy wants him to pay.

He reins in his emotions as easily and fiercely as he had let them out before. Alex _sees_ him change. He grows distant, his hands stop shaking. The imaginary aura of wild fire that was surrounding him before, emanating from his very skin, disappears in a moment, replaced entirely by an opposite one made of cold ice crystals, sharp as claws.

Alex swallows and backs away, not exactly to escape what’s coming but to prepare better for it. He’s developed a sort of addiction for Timmy’s roughness. Sometimes he even wonders if he doesn’t stir his rage on purpose.

“Stop backing off,” Timmy says as he advances. His voice is stone cold and equally hard. Alex obeys to it as if to a primal call, and stands in front of his bed as Timmy stops less than an inch from him.

He’s close enough Alex can feel his breath on his skin, on his lips. The fear pooling up in the pit of his stomach is brewing like wine, getting thicker, darker. Turning into desire.

“Since you seem to be needing to hear it so bad,” Timmy says, grabbing him by his hair and tugging hard enough to make him tilt his head back, “No, I’m not okay seeing you go. I don’t know what gave you the impression that you could be free to go wherever the fuck you wanted without asking for permission first.”

“You can’t fucking command me,” Alex growls, resisting to the pull, even at the cost of a hammering headache later, “You don’t own me.”

“I don’t care about owning you,” Timmy growls back, leaning in on his lips, refusing to kiss him but speaking on them, roughly, “It’s better if I don’t own you. So I get to take you and take you again every single time.”

Alex tries not to, but it’s beyond him, and he ends up whimpering and raising his hands to place them on Timmy’s chest. Fuck, he’s firm. Firm and wide and thick, like his cock. Every part of Timmy seems designed by a cruel God to overwhelm. He’s the eleventh biblical plague.

“I’ll only be away a month,” he says, trying to give him a reason to calm down.

“A month is an eternity to me,” Timmy answers honestly, his nose pressed against Alex’s, his fingers still firmly wrapped around his hair while his other hand runs down his back and squeezes his ass, hard. “I switch moods every five minutes, I could decide to simply run away tomorrow, and you talk to me about months. How fast do you think I could forget you once I stop seeing you every day?”

“I think you couldn’t,” Alex replies, trying not to mind the sting in his scalp, “I think that’s the core of the problem. I go away one month and you wish you could forget me but you can’t, and you don’t know what to do because you won’t be able to see me for that long and you just _can’t_ deal with that.”

Timmy almost roars, as he finally covers Alex’s lips with his own, dragging him into a messy, violent kiss. Alex feels himself melt like metal on the fire. Warmth and pleasure invade him and all he can think of is that he wants Timmy to throw the bag off the bed, push him down into the mattress on his stomach and fuck him raw from behind, hard enough to make him scream and cry.

Naturally, Timmy backs off when he senses that in the kiss, and Alex groans, clinging to him for dear life.

“Jesus, you’re unbearable,” he says, and Timmy answers with a rough laughter, pulling him up in his arms and slamming him on the desk. He hits his ass hard, and he moans in pain. “Ouch-- animal.”

“Shut up, sweets,” Timmy says, sticking his hand in Alex’s pants and instantly covering his erection with it, “Look here, you’re already hard.”

“No shit.”

“You were desperate for it the moment I came in.”

“You wish,” Alex groans, biting hard at his lips in rebellion, “You pushed me, that’s the only reason I’m hard now. I wasn’t even thinking about it before.”

“Pretty little liar,” Timmy laughs in his face, licking at his bottom lip, “You made me bleed.”

“You deserve it.”

“Yeah,” Timmy kisses him again and Alex tastes the metal on his tongue. It’s fucking exalting. “You know why we get along so well, sweetness?”

“We don’t get along at all.”

“It’s because we’re both animals, baby,” Timmy kisses him hard, to shut him up, as he wraps his fist around his cock and pumps up and down, almost milking him, “We’re both people who could come for having been bitten.”

“That maybe applies to you, cos you’re a fucking psychopath,” Alex answers stubbornly, pressing a hand on Timmy’s through his pants to make him apply more pressure, “I personally only come when I’m being fucked, blown or jerked off, so get to it, big boy, if you really wanna hear me scream.”

Timmy grins and instantly stops moving his hand, and as he feels quickly dying inside when he understands what happened Alex thinks he should’ve fucking known, and any disappointment he might feel right now, any anger, any frustration, is on him, for letting Timmy make him dance like a stringed puppet once again.

“Don’t you dare stopping,” he says breathlessly, trying to keep Timmy’s hands in his pants. He withdraws, though, laughing like an idiot.

“Jesus, baby. Your face. You’re gorgeous.”

“And you’re an asshole!” Alex screams, grabbing his mouse and throwing it at him, not even caring if the damn thing gets broken as it misses him and hits the wall behind him, “A crazy asshole! You’re a maniac! A criminal! You’re fucking dangerous!”

“That you knew before you let me touch your dick, sweetness,” Timmy smiles, tilting his head.

“Fuck you!” Alex answers, yelling. He climbs off the desk and throws him a notebook too, actually hitting him on his shoulder, even though it’s hard to guess if he hurt him, considering Timmy doesn’t lose his smile in the slightest. “Get out! I don’t wanna see you anymore!”

“Wow, love, if you really wanted to come so much all you had to do was beg,” the devil smirks, and Alex simply loses it. 

Roaring like a little beast, he pushes him back towards the window. Then he opens it, and he tries to push him outside too, so violently Timmy actually frowns, probably wondering for a moment if perhaps he tugged at the rope too hard too. “I’m done with this shit,” Alex says, “You know what, not only I am okay with leaving for a month, I am _happy_ to do it, cos at least I won’t have to see your face for a while.”

Timmy frowns more deeply, crossing his arms on his chest. “Meaning?”

“Meaning I’m fed up with this attitude of yours!” Alex pushes him again, hard, “I like the thrill and I like the pain and I don’t care if that means I’m mental too, but I am fed up with you always using fucking orgasm deprivation as a mean to punish me! It’s annoying, frustrating, it makes me angry and it’s not even sexy!”

“I suggest you think about what you’re about to say, babe, cos--”

“Shut up!” Alex interrupts him, stomping his foot on the floor, “There’s more to that! You might be handsome and sexy as hell, Timmy, but just so you know, you’re fucked up, you’re a horrible person, you’re controlling, stubborn as a mule and just as stupid and let me just add to wrap it up that you are completely unable to handle relationships with other human beings, and you think that’s oh-so-charming a trait, but believe me, _it’s not_. It’s sad and pathetic, and _you’re_ sad and pathetic, and I don’t wanna see you anymore.”

It feels so unbelievably _good_ to finally have said something about it, that Alex feels as though he could finally breathe for the first time in a century. He fills his lungs with oxygen and then lets it out freely, and he feels so light, and it’s so exalting to see the look of complete, utter disappointment on Timmy’s face that he throws a victorious yell in his own mind. He’s disappointed? He’s hurt? Good. He _should_. Alex hopes he suffers, and that not a day passes by that he doesn’t look back and regret having treated him like that.

Timmy leaps over the windowsill, walking out on the roof. He never looks away from Alex and never stops frowning.

“Thanks for letting me know,” he says, voice filled with vibrant anger held back with a willpower Alex can feel even stronger than the anger itself, “You didn’t mind this horrible person all the time he made you scream with pleasure, though.”

Alex frowns. It’s just like Timmy to try and use having made him come a few times over the last six months as a weapon against him. Classy as always. He decides not to even answer, Timmy’s words don’t deserve anything.

Timmy stands in front of the window, his outline blocking out the sun for a second. “That’s always been me, little unicorn,” he says, “I’ve never pretended to be any better than what I’ve shown you. I thought you got it and I thought you _knew_ the game.” He half turns, moving a couple steps away from the window. “But after all you’re just a child. Maybe I just gave you too much credit.”

And maybe he is just a child, after all, because to this he can’t keep quiet. As Timmy starts climbing down the roof, he looks out the window and screams “Fuck you!”, before slamming it close, miraculously avoiding shattering it. 

He walks back to the bed, angrily. He grabs the bag and throws it on the floor, and then throws himself on the bed and wraps himself up in the duvet, pressing his face against the pillow to scream into it in frustration.

His hard-on slowly starts to soften down, and as blood starts flowing back to his brain he realizes what he just told Timmy. And that he just left. And he wonders, for a second, if it really was because he didn’t let him come, but he answers himself pretty quickly, and that is not the truth. He was fed up alright, but certainly not with orgasm denial, for fuck’s sake, orgasm denial was part of it, part of how this wicked link between them worked so well. Timmy’s mind is twisted, but it had found a match in Alex. The torture was not the issue.

The issue was that Alex simply wanted Timmy to ask him to stay. And he could’ve honestly told him, just as Timmy had honestly told him that he didn’t like him going. 

The fact is, Alex simply wanted to be with him. And because he couldn’t, he just sent him away forever instead.

*

Despite the years that have passed, Alex still struggles to get used to this new dad that doesn’t match at all the person he remembers from when he was a young boy. Daddy Vincenzo was a strong person, full of enthusiasm, especially when it came to his farm and his animals: he was passionate about the job and that wasn’t all – he was educated about it. He used to say that so many farmers simply worked in farms because their dads and granddads had been farm owners too, but he had been different: his family never owned a farm, he studied farming since he was young, first by himself, then in university. He got a degree in agriculture, then a master degree in organic farming and after that he bought a farm for himself.

That had happened back in Italy, when Alex still didn’t even exist. Then, as he worked as an Uber driver to make some extra cash, he had met his daddy, and things had changed. They had started building a family, they had him, the farm grew until it was worth enough money that Vince could sell it to buy a new one, twice as big, in the USA, so that Cody and him could go there, together with Alex, of course, and be closer to Cody’s family, which had been, to Vince, certainly a better family than his own.

His dad had lived half his life without the support of his family, the members of which turned on him the very moment he came out to them after meeting Cody, and yet that wasn’t enough to bring him down: the Vince Alex remembers from his childhood is still the positive, hard-working, trusting man who had built his farm all by himself back in Italy.

And yet, losing his father crushed him. The man Alex knows now has nothing to do with that bright man from before. Vince has turned into a loner, a sad, practical man who forgot all his dreams and ideals. He’s not mean, not at all, and he’s not turned bad, he’s still honest, he’s still hard-working, but he lost his flame completely. He’s cold, faded, his eyes are empty, even when he’s talking about the farm – the things he loves and which gave back to him the most through his whole life.

Alex struggles to be around this man, because the contrast with the dad he once knew is too stark, too striking, and too painful.

“How are things in school?” his dad asks as they drive to the farm.

He tries to show some interest, at least. He pretends to feel it. Perhaps he even tells himself he truly does, but Alex can feel it, he doesn’t. He can feel that there’s still love for him, or perhaps just nostalgia, within his dad’s heart, but that little flame, weak as it is, is unable to melt the ice glass wall between his father and the rest of the world. And so its warmth doesn’t get to Alex. Doesn’t even touch him.

“Fine,” he says, going on purpose for the answer that will stop the talking altogether, because he doesn’t feel prepared to sustain such an empty, fireless conversation.

His dad falls silent, feeling the distance grow between them. Alex looks out the car window, watches the countryside as it changes shades and colors the more they get far from the village and close to the farm, and as he realizes with painful clarity that this is probably the last time he comes here he touches his own skin and he feels it different than it ever was before. Like there was a crust on it, a film that made it stringy, and he bites at his bottom lip, trying to suppress the tears, when he realizes what it is.

His dad’s conversation feels so heartless and empty, so devoid of fire, because for the last six months the only thing Alex conversed with was fire itself. Every word out of Timmy’s lips was a flame that scarred his skin, making him used to a different kind of temperature.

Naturally, when his dad speaks he doesn’t feel a thing.

Any temperature colder than Timmy is as cold as ice to him now.

*

He feels his hands on his back and he can recognize them even without turning around. He gasps and he’s about to turn anyway when Timmy says “no, don’t move”, and he freezes in position as a consequence of that, his arms and legs stiff, his shoulders tense enough to start to hurt.

He was going through his Facebook feed, lying down on his blanket laid on the dry grass in the backyard of the farm, enjoying the hot stroke of the summer sun on his back and shoulders, left bare by the loose tank top he’s wearing on his shorts, and the last thing he was expecting was to feel him. It doesn’t even make sense that he’s here – once again, he’s tempted to turn, but Timmy specifically told him not to, and so he doesn’t.

He’s here. He’s _here_. Despite everything, he’s still here.

“Surprised?” Timmy asks. There’s amusement in his voice and desire in his fingers, running down his sides and slipping underneath his tank top, slowly. The sun is hot, but his skin is hotter.

Alex swallows. “Yes,” he admits honestly, “I thought I wouldn’t see you again.”

“Why, because you told me you didn’t wanna have anything to do with me?” Timmy laughs, “You know me as someone who simply does what he’s told just because he’s been told so?”

“No, but...” he tries to turn around – he wants to see his face, God, he’s desperate to see his face – but Timmy pins him down on the ground with both hands pressed right at the very center of his spine, “I thought you were angry at me.”

Timmy laughs. There’s a soft undertone in that laughter – something Alex has never heard coming from him. “I was,” Timmy admits, and Alex can almost _feel_ the shrug in his voice, that’s how deep Timmy wrote himself, his genetic code, underneath Alex’s skin, “And you were too. I told you, little unicorn, the reason why we work so well is that we’re the same.” He leans in and presses a hot, wet kiss on Alex’s nape. “Or are you still convinced we don’t work well at all?”

“No, I changed my mind,” Alex whimpers, arching back into him, searching for more contact. He craves his warmth, he craves the pleasure his hands know how to give him, but what’s even more important, what really defines the power of his desire, is that he craves their connection, the specific way in which their souls touch when they’re having sex.

When he was – well, no, not younger, because he still is young, he’s deeply aware of it, but back when Timmy hadn’t touched him yet, back when they didn’t even know each other, he used to believe the connection of the souls had to be something romantic. Something sweet and soft, poetic even.

Now he knows it depends on the souls involved. When they’re thick and raw, when they have teeth like animals, when they have rough edges, the connection can be beastly, it can be painful, but not for this it’s any less blissful.

Timmy smiles against his skin, and then bites the curve of his shoulder. It’s not a gentle bite – it leaves marks, deep enough for Alex to know they will change color and turn into bruises in the following days.

It’s okay. He lets himself be filled with the sharp pain and it’s okay. He’s ready for everything. Whatever Timmy wants to give him.

“Part your legs, sweets,” Timmy says. Alex does it right away – he doesn’t even question the order, or the fact that they’re outside, that his dad is God only knows where and could see them, or that considering the hour and the fact that they’re in broad daylight literally everyone could see them if they simply walked by there. He doesn’t care. What if someone sees him with his pants down to his ankles taking it from the mad American version of Apollo? If he has to die of shame, he will die doing something he adores.

He listens to the sound of clothes rustling. Then the creaking of the small plastic wrapper of the condom being torn apart. He swallows, parting his legs more and arching his back to expose himself at his fullest. Timmy’s fingers, barely wet, touching him slowly, almost too delicately, certainly more delicately than they’ve ever touched him, stretching his opening up, preparing him for what’s to come.

Then the tip of Timmy’s cock pressing against his hole, forcing it open. He moans, letting go of his phone and clutching his fists. God, it feels good. It feels so good to have him back.

Timmy chuckles, pushing in slowly. There’s something wrong with his position, Alex thinks, he’s way more to the left of him than he should considering he’s fucking him and he should be right behind him, but whatever, perhaps it’s just a wrong impression, perhaps he’s just to happy to have him back he’s feeling things that aren’t real.

“Do you like it?” Timmy asks.

“Yes,” Alex whimpers, and when Timmy laughs again there’s something in his laughter that doesn’t sound quite right. Alex frowns, noticing it, and as the sour note helps him focus back on the true reality surrounding him he notices something else doesn’t feel quite right.

It’s the shape of him. Now, Alex wouldn’t go as far as to say he would be able to tell Timmy’s cock apart from a thousand others, if he tried it, but he knows the shape of him – he knows the feel of him inside, and the size of it, and how it stretches him up. Timmy’s was the first cock he ever took, and the only, up until now, and this thing penetrating him right now, this is not it.

“Timmy,” he groans, finally breaking his unsaid vow of obedience to turn around and look at what’s happening behind himself from above his shoulder, “What are you…?” but the words get lost in his throat, his voice fades away as he sees Timmy actually fucking him with a motherfucking cucumber.

For a second, he can scarcely believe it’s really happening. Wide-eyed and dumbstruck he simply watches him move his hand back and forth, pushing the cucumber in and out of him, and he can barely feel anything else that isn’t complete shock.

Then, he finally yells.

“You idiot!” he screams like an eagle, “Pervert! You’re not right in the head! Take that thing out of me!”

“Oh, come on,” Timmy laughs, amused, moving the cucumber in circles to help his opening adapt to its girth, “It’s just a prop. It’s as if I were fucking you using a dildo.”

“That’s not a dildo!”

“Well, it’s as close as it can get around here,” Timmy chuckles again, “We’re in a farm, after all, aren’t we?”

“Timmy, I swear,” Alex growls, “If you don’t take that thing out of me _right now_ I will--” but he cannot finish the sentence, because Timmy pushes the cucumber deeper inside and angles it downward enough to stroke a spot he usually only manages to reach with his fingers, a little less often with his cock, and Alex’s whole body gives in, and he shakes a little as he mewls, lowering his head and resting his forehead on the blanket. “Nh… Timmy, that’s unfair.”

“More or less unfair than the shit you threw on me two days ago?” Timmy muses, pushing the cucumber a little faster.

Alex groans, pulling himself lightly up on his knees, finding a more comfortable position and also welcoming the cucumber inside much more deeply, which results in his cock twitching and throbbing in pleasure, aching for some stroking. “It’s even more unfair that you’re using it to punish me for what I told you.”

“As far as punishments go,” Timmy leans in, whispering right against his ear, “You must admit this is pretty pleasant.”

It _is_ pretty pleasant, but that doesn’t mean Alex has to admit it.

“I won’t say it out loud,” he growls, and Timmy laughs.

“Fair enough,” he answers, “I don’t need to hear you say it to know it.”

Alex moans, and he knows this is a remark he deserved. He feels so stupid now – why was it so important to hear Timmy say that he was going to miss him, or that he would’ve preferred it if Alex had stayed back in Lima? What’s an admission like that, something so small, a concession so immaterial, compared to their connection, to the way this person is able to make his whole body sing even using vegetables as sex toys?

It’s so absurd it’s almost comical, and wasn’t he shaking in pleasure head to toe Alex would certainly laugh.

He doesn’t need Timmy to say anything. What else could he give him more than they already have? What would change, for them, if they said out loud that they’re boyfriends, now? If they talked exclusivity, put down ground rules, settled for two nights out every week and watching a movie together on the couch when they stay in instead? Does he care for that kind of life, does he even want it? Would an admission or a love confession make anything better between them?

Words are just words. Sometimes a relationship ends up limited, imprisoned, by its definition. They love one another but they’re not in love. They’re not lovers and they’re certainly not boyfriends. They recognize themselves in each other. The spark on one lives in the eye of the other. They’re the same kind of weird animal, they’re the last of the species and they’ve finally met, whether it’s in a zoo or out in the wilderness doesn’t matter. 

This is what matters. The pleasure. The feeling of mutual dependence. Feeling completely accepted in each other’s arms. Knowing that no matter how dark Timmy’s thoughts and actions become, Alex will always understand them on a deeper level than his consciousness. Knowing that no matter how deep Alex’s desire for the twisted becomes, Timmy will always be able to provide exactly what he needs at the exact right time.

That is everything, Alex decides. He decides it as he would take an important, life-changing decision. He doesn’t want to leave this to instinct or to guts. He wants this to be a rational action. He says _yes_ as he comes, and he knows that this is a yes that doesn’t exhaust itself with pleasure. He’s accepting the gamble and the deal that Timmy is. And he knows, when Timmy leans in and kisses him hungrily on his mouth, that Timmy accepted him just the same.

“Jesus…” he murmurs, resting on the blanket as Timmy takes the cucumber out of him, “You’re such an asshole.”

“Come on, you liked it, don’t be a bitch,” Timmy laughs, lying down on his side next to him.

Alex shrugs, looking away. “Maybe,” he half-admits, and then he turns his eyes back on Timmy, “But I would’ve liked you better.”

Timmy bites at his bottom lip for a second, and then chuckles, leaning in to kiss him on his lips again. “Soon,” he promises in a whisper. “But first…” he reaches down into an old burlap sack, and fetches something else. That _something else_ is a banana. “I found this, together with the cucumber, while I was going through your dad’s kitchen. Wanna give it a try?”

Alex blinks for a couple of times, looking at him as if he couldn’t even believe he was real.

Then he slaps him and stands up. “Fuck you,” he says, pulling up his shorts and marching back towards the house.

Timmy lies down on the blanket, arms and legs spread, laughing his ass off, caring exactly nothing for his slap, his rage and basically anything else. Alex shakes his head and snorts, leaving him there to laugh as he walks inside. Then he closes the door and leans against it, and with a hand on his heart he smiles, feeling nothing short of a schoolgirl, wondering if perhaps he should introduce him to his dad.


End file.
